Papa give me one look, and I never see him look so sad, so confuse.
“Then I bring you come,” he say, voice so soft, so breaking. “Khadija have her peoples, they must know that she is dead. The village chief must know that Khadija is dead. Morufu must know. Let me go and find all these peoples. The village chief will not kill you when I, your Papa, is alive. I swear it that nothing bad will happen to you. But first, stop your tears. Go inside your room and wait for me.”
Papa look left and look right, tap the side of his trouser, as if he is finding something but didn’t know what it is, then he put his feets inside his slippers and leave me kneeling by myself in the parlor.
* * *
My heart is still turning around inside my chest as I am standing in the room I was sharing with Kayus and Born-boy. I go to the window, pull Mama’s wrapper that we use for curtains to one side, to check it sure that nobody is coming. Outside, the sun is starting to climb down from the sky, the color is changing to the red of Papa’s eyes when he is drinking too much. The compound is empty, quiet too, only the leafs from the mango tree are dancing in the evening breeze and whispering to theirselfs.
Is it a wicked thing, to be thinking to run away, when Khadija is by herself, lying dead in Kere village? Is there another options for me? Papa say nothing will happen to me, but Papa make a promise to Mama and he didn’t keep the promise. How will he keep his promise now to save me from this troubles?
I wipe my eyes, move away from the window, roll out my mat from under the bed, pull out the black nylon bag from inside the raffia mat and put my belongings inside it.
I don’t have much things because three of my four cloths is in Morufu’s house. I take my ankara dress, one pant, the black brassiere that Mama gived me when I was first starting to growing breast, my chewing stick, and my mama’s old Yoruba Bible. It have a black rubber cover, the words inside small, the edges folding from many years of Mama reading it at night with candlelight in the kitchen. I press it on my chest now, say a prayer to God to help me. To save me from my troubles.
I look around the room, at the cushion Kayus is using as pillow on the green mat in the corner, at the kerosene lantern beside it, and shake my head. How will I be leaving all of this? If I run away now, where will I see Kayus again?
I on the lantern, lift it up as if that will block out the dark of my heart and pull out the one thousand naira I been keeping there before my wedding. I remove one hundred naira, fold it, and put it under the cushion-pillow for Kayus. It is not much, but it can buy two or three choco-sweets, make him to be happy. I am trying to not cry as I press my face to the mat and tell it to be caring of my Kayus for me.
In the afar, I can hear Born-boy, sounding as if he is just entering inside the compound. I rise to my feets, run outside to meet him, my nylon bag dancing in my hand.
Born-boy is carrying two tires on top his head, looking as if he is just coming from his mechanic working place. He look shock when he see me. Blink. “Adunni?”
“It is me, brother,” I say. I strong up my face, arrange it straight, and push Khadija far back in my mind.
“Why are you standing and looking?” Born-boy say. “Collect this thing from me.”
I collect the tires, set it on the floor.
“What have you come to find here?” he ask. “Where is your husband? What is in your hand?”
“He send me to come and give Papa money,” I say, holding my nylon bag tight. “To say thank you for marrying me.”
“He is a good man, your husband.” Born-boy swipe the sweat from his forehead with his finger and flick it at my feets. “Because of him, we are having plenty food to eat now. Did you see the yams and plantains in the kitchen? Even the community rent, Papa pay for it two months back, did he tell you? Where is Papa? Inside?”
“Papa is”—I swallow spit, try to talk again—“out. With Mr. Bada.”
“You are going now? To your husband’s house?”
“Yes,” I say. “Night is falling.”
“Greet him for me, the good man.” He look me up and down. “You want me to escort you? It is dark outside.”
“No,” I say. “Thank you. I am going now, now.”
Born-boy stretch his hand and yawn like a dog, his wide mouth snapping close. “Go quick,” he say, thinning his eyes. “Wait, Adunni. You sure all is well? You have trouble running all over your face. What happen? Morufu, is he well?”
I lick my dry, cracking lips. “He is well.”
“And the senior wifes? Labake and the other one? They do you good?”
Khadija do me good, but now she is dead. “They do me well,” I say as my voice is starting to break with tears. “Let me go quick bye-bye.”
“Hurry,” he say. “Go well. Greet the good man, the very good man.”
Born-boy enter the house, and a weak light from the lantern light up the room window. I shift on my feets, looking the sky, the gathering of gray clouds to the center of it. The wind be sounding like a whistle, blowing a sad, cold song. There is a smell inside the air too, of dust that swallow water, and I know that the rains are gathering their self to begin falling.
Now, I think. Go now.
I draw a deep breath, look our house on my left, the dusty road on my right, then I press my nylon bag tight to my chest, and I begin to run.
CHAPTER 18
At first I am running, keeping my head down, my eyes on my feets on the muddy path that is leading outside the village.
On my left and right are maize plantations, with wide green leafs. I am thanking it because it is keeping me from the village eyes that is behind the plantations. Light is flashing from the sky, followed by a shout of the thunder. I keep running, my ears catching the sound of dogs barking in the afar, the goats from the nearby compounds bleating meh, meh, stamping their feets on the floor as if they are fighting with the earth. Chickens are running everywhere, their feathers flapping every time the sky flash a light. I keep running, sometimes I am skipping when I see rocks or weeds, or when I see old car tires that some devil-childrens leave on the road to cause person to be falling.
One red cock with green thread on his neck jump inside my path from nowhere, making me to knock my leg on a stone. I slow myself and bend down to rub the ankles. The ankles are breathing with pain, and I am trying to not cry. From corners of my eye, I see two girls with bucket on their head. One of the girls is Ruka. The two both of the girls are talking together and laughing, but they kill the laugh when they see me.
“Adunni, our new wife,” Ruka say when she is reaching my front. “Where are you going?”
“To fetch water at Ikati river,” I say, talking as if all my breath is about to finish. I am standing up now and pointing my hand to the back of my head, where my house is far behind. “Our well is dry, so I need to keep water for, for tomorrow.” I try to force a laugh, but I know the laugh will turn itself to crying.